Chapter 5: Down we go

39:3:18 GrS

Citadel Inquisitorius, Prakith

The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss. Pitch blackness greeted me.

Beneath my helmet my eyes narrowed and I used my free hand to toggle the helmet's night vision on. Making sure to keep my gaze away from the beam of contained plasma in my right hand, I examined my surroundings.

A narrow corridor, reminiscent of a mining shaft, stretched out in front of me. Plating of some kind lined the ground and I could vaguely make out a series of lights on the tunnel's ceiling. The lights were deactivated and a courtesy check showed that there was no convenient light switch nearby to turn them on.

Muttering an unflattering word under my breath, I deactivated my night vision and plunged into the tunnel, red saber light and Force intuition guiding me.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk went my boots. The echoes that came back to me making it sound like an army was marching towards me. The tunnel I was traveling in was definitely man made and despite it feeling like it should have branching corridors, it didn't. An increased sense of caution began to prick at me but I forged onward. Too much had been accomplished to stop now.

Further and further I ventured along, senses flared and saber ready. The tunnel began to slope downward, turning the straight path into a minor decline. As I went along, I cast my senses around, wanting to know how far down from the surface I was going. Huh, that was far. I was about half a kilometer underneath the Citadel. Was this how a mole felt?

Then my surroundings changed from rock and earth to carved stone and crumbling mortar. I couldn't see the tunnel's ceiling in my saber's red light anymore. I tapped a boot against the ground. Solid rock instead of a metallic plating. A cursory sense of the space showed that there were no lifeforms present, at least normal lifeforms anyways.

A brief force nudged against the left side of my head. I swiveled to look. That way then.

Keeping my saber at about waist height, to spread its red glow in the most efficient manner, I prowled forward. Then a dull, grey box entered the red aurora in front of me. It was attached to the stone wall and, as evidenced by the cracks in the stone emanating from the box, wasn't part of the original design. A quick reach around showed that there was nothing next to the box either. I furrowed my brow as I took in the box, wondering what its purpose...was...oh.

In faded, but still easily picked out, white Aurebesh was the word "Lights". I felt rather sheepish. Reaching out, I pulled the large switch down. The lightbox quickly dismissed any worries I had about its condition as I faintly heard the hum of a generator coming back online and the overhead lights flickered on, bathing the chamber in light.

Taking the whole thing in, I was struck by how small the stone room was. It couldn't have been much larger than a janitorial closet, and that was lengthwise. I took a quick look over my shoulder. The tunnel I had journeyed down to get here had been lit up as well.

I turned my saber off, figuring that if no traps had decided to go off by this point, there weren't any traps. My helmet followed as soon as I confirmed the air was breathable and clean. I sniffed. Strange, still no parchment smell. Not for the first time since I arrived back on Prakith, I cursed the decision to not bring one of my suppression talismans down here. It was entirely possible that the accumulated Dark Side presence of the Citadel was fucking with me, inciting olfactory hallucinations. Although that was just crackpot theorizing at best.

Immediately after the lights came on, the key features of the small room were revealed: a stone pedestal, about as tall as my waist, with the Sith script carved onto it; and directly in front of the pedestal was a fearsome stone relief. The relief stretched from the ground to the ceiling and ran the length of the wall, and more sith script was interspersed between the images. The whole thing was greatly worn down by age, with some fairly large sections having crumbled away completely leaving the overall message of the relief incomplete picturewise. Not that I knew enough of the Red Sith tongue to even begin to grasp what the wall was trying to tell me. Damn Palpatine.

I approached the pedestal at a diagonal angle, taking note of the threadbare red and black throw rug in front of it. It's positing making it look vaguely religious in nature. Once I got closer I was able to realize that the pedestal was very...artistic in nature, favoring broad, sweeping lines in the middle and sharp, craggy points at the ends. Kinda looked like an artistic representation of Prakith in a way.

Seeing nothing obvious on the pedestal, I decided to take a closer look at the relief. Maybe I could figure out just what this place had been attached to. Or maybe someone just made a neat little hole and buried it under a couple tons of earth. Yeah right.

Resting my chin on a fist, I scanned the wall, quickly deducing that whatever story it was telling was mirrored on both sides. The same tale of what looked like a stream of gifts and other tribute being carried to the figure in the middle. This figure, a man clad in robes and who face had been one of the sufferers of erosion, stood atop a strange pyramidal structure. A fortress perhaps? I'd seen similar tower designs on some of my trips to more isolated worlds in the Western Reaches and the Core Negs.

Luckily there was a bit of script right above the faceless ruler(?). It didn't look that long and I recognized a few of the characters.

"All hail….the….magni-...adar-no, king…." I strained my eyes over the end of the sentence. Did those look like chisel marks? "Arth...edu…..Prak."

"All hail the majestic? Magnificent? Adar-King Arthedu of Prak?" I tapped a finger against my chin. Adar kinda lined up with what I believe the word elder would sound like in the Sith tongue. The Elder King Arthedu maybe? Prak was probably the older form of Prakith or perhaps just the shorthand for the planet's name. Huh. Guess Prakith did have a civilization of some kind on it before it was discovered, or I guess it's rediscovered now, by the Mining Guild.

Then I noticed in the figure-Arthedu's-hand was something that looked suspiciously like an artist rendition of Force Lightning. Errant bolts reached down to strike at the stone Arthedu stood on, and a few, three to be precise, reached up to where his head should be. Was the number significant? A numerary system? Did this relief show King Arthedu III or was the number three a portent of good luck in whatever ancient Prakith society had spawned a sorcerous line of kings? This was too small to be a tomb, so a border marker for this king's territory? But that in and of itself implied the existence of other force capable monarchs on Prakith during the time of this specific king.

Too many questions, none of importance unfortunately.

Suddenly I realized I almost had my nose pressed against the stone relief, my eyes boring into the carved steps of Arthedu's fortress. I froze, slamming secondary mental walls down full force and strengthened my defenses. I wasn't in the habit of moving unconsciously when not in combat.

Parchment? No, no parchment. Nothing messing with my mind either. The Force maybe?

I glanced back at the step that had been eyelevel with me. Pursing my lips, I reached out and pressed the block that this step had been carved on. Obviously, my lightsaber was a hair away from being ignited as I did this.

Annnd, nothing. It was just a piece of stone stuck to a wall. All the stones surrounding it were also just that: stones. Disappointing but not unexpected.

So that only left the pedestal. I walked onto the threadbare rug and crouched to examine it. No obvious compartments but there was a certain presence around the pedestal.

One hand slid up to the top of the pedestal and swiped away at one of the corners. The tips of my glove came away black. Soot I confirmed after rubbing two fingers against each other. No overt smell around the pedestal.

With a slow exhale I used the Force to sharpen my senses. New details, sounds and smells came to me as the Force helped amplify what I sought to me.

The smooth stone had the faintest smell of incense on it, mostly concentrated around the four corners of the pedestal. The chamber was used for meditation then, going off that and the rug. As I had found out over the years, hard stone is killer on one's knees. Add on the fact that this room was only accessible from the very top of the Citadel, and that only members of the old guard would have access to the comm room; thereby giving them access to the means to this location, and you get the private mediation chamber of a ranking member of the Inquisitorius.

The question is: what are they meditating over and how do I get it?

I hadn't found any concealed switches, making me draw the conclusion that there was no hidden intricate machinery inside the pedestal. Instead it was just a small pillar of rock. Therefore, this ought to work.

I waved a hand over the top of the pedestal and drew on the Force. With a series of *clunks*, the upper layer of rock split in two and retracted in the wider top of the pedestal. Then, with the faint grinding of stone against stone, two items were raised into the open(ish) air.

The first one was a thin book, about the thickness of one of my fingers, bound in what looked like wood almost, or maybe it was a very old leather piece. A title was written in silver ink on the front cover of the book. As for the pages ...the smell of parchment came back stronger than ever. The Dark Side hummed its soft approval. At what part of this, I didn't know.

But it was the second object that made my knees buckle in shock. It looked so innocuous, that small cube, the size of my palm, formed of cloudy green glass and dull brass; but it wasn't. It was a holocron. The sight of it made me giddy.

My enthusiasm was slightly dampened by the lack of strong force presence coming from the holocron, meaning that this probably wasn't a true holocron in the traditional sense. But it was a holocron and I could feel the mechanisms inside it that meant it could only be opened by a Force sensitive.

Throwing excessive caution to the wayside(I still checked it for traps of course), I picked up the holocron and activated it with deft use of the Force, opening the internal tumblers.

The holocron came alive because it had the Force flowing through it. It's four corners detached and the cube, now glowing green, floated up before a message began to play.

~"Hello Padawan, I am Cin Drallig, Jedi Master and the Battlemaster of our order. As the order is now in a state of conflict, it was decided that data holocrons like the one in your possession should be distributed to Padawans currently deployed in the field who lack a master to continue their education in the Lightsaber Forms. This data holocron contains the complete compendium of all lightsaber forms taught by the Jedi Order as well as the standard philosophical lectures of each form as well. You may now select a form."~

The projected hologram of Cin Drallig cut off and I felt a previously deactivated part of the holocron activate. Now that was a new approach to a menu. I used the Force to select the first, and lowest option.

~" Form I, also called Shii-Cho, requires little explanation, as every Jedi youngling learns the basics of attack, parry, body target zones, and practice drills called velocities."~

I cut off that option by cycling back to the 'menu'. I already knew Form I in its taught entirety. My excitement and eagerness continued to grow. This, this was what I had been looking for. An edge, forgotten knowledge that would allow me to elevate myself to the next level. I selected the second option in the holocron's menu, expecting to hear the start of a Makashi lesson.

~"Error: Filename-Forn Besh has been corrupted. Recovery impossible in current state. Please see Library officials to restore full capacity."~

Oh come on! Panic started to bubble. Thrusting it back down, I quickly cycled through the other option.

~"Error: Filename-Forn Dorn has been corrupted. Recovery impossible…"~

~"Error: Filename-Forn Esk has been corrupted-"~

~"Error: Filename-Forn Forn-"~

Shit and Kriff!

Desperately, I tried the final option.

~"Form III Soresu, is designed to maximize defensive protection in a style characterized by tight, efficient movements that expose minimal target areas when compared with the relatively open styles of some other forms"~

Oh thank the Force. I let go a sigh of relief. It still worked, it still worked.

I quickly deactivated the holocron, not willing to take the risk that it had some underlying electronic issue that caused the file corruption, coming back to ruin what was left.

The Force whispered to me, nudging me back in the direction I came. Something was up.

Grabbing the thin book I looked at the title. "A Primer of the language of the Sith." It was in Aurebesh except for the last word, which was one of the few I already knew. My mouth dried up a little. If the title was right, this was just as important as the holocron, if not moreso.

I swept out of the small room at a brisk pace, leaving the empty compartment and dirt boot prints as the only sign of my presence. As I walked back, my previous thoughts came back full force. I had struck paydirt, serious paydirt at that.

I couldn't wait to get back to the Adamant and take two or three days to look over the two small objects now in my possession, to soak up what they contained. The energy rushing through me was reminiscent of the sugar rush small children got after imbibing in too much candy.

But that would have to wait, unfortunately, because these two beauties were getting thrown in a force isolation array for a week at the minimum. The chance that these items were left for a rival in the upper ranks to find and were part of a trap was too close for my peace of mind.

It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you after all